We then hear the lumbering whine of an elevator and the camera does some loop-de-loop so we know it's moving, but it's not readily clear whether the elevator is moving down or the camera is pulling back, or what. It appears to be moving down.

And now, we're outside the Androscoggin County, ME, correctional facility, done in a charming Federalist style with limestone facades and a copper cupola worn to a fine patina. It is the most lovely penal facility I have ever seen. The inside, however, has the tell-tale penal décor --lots of bars, not a lot of wall-to-wall carpet, muzak or something like it. And by "something like it," I mean "high-pitched voices ululating nonsense syllables so they sound foreboding without distracting you with actual lyrics." I wonder if that gets on the inmates' nerves.

The camera follows a trusty down one hall that's worse lit (and therefore more foreboding) than the others, and we see Rolf lying on his bunk, reading a pamphlet titled "Hell is a Barroom." Yeah -- and it's populated with Irishmen. The trusty delivers the mail, and as he opens the slot, the background singers kick it up a notch. I can't believe the ACLU hasn't brought suit on that yet -- surely hearing that constantly constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. The shirtless Rolf walks over to pick up his mail. I suppose the shirt is off to convey the following information: Rolf has something tattooed on his right pectoral; Rolf has a dark dragon tattooed down the left side of his neck; Rolf apparently forswore carbs and did a lot of crunches before his killing spree. Well, it figures. Slaughtering entire groups of people probably requires some sort of cardio endurance, at least. Rolf looks around to make sure nobody watches him get his mail, and then reads the first letter. "Rot in hell, counselor," he responds. Rolf is clearly not grasping the concept of voice mail.